


75. The Big Scene, Part II

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [75]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee (TV) RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6323971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>General warnings: Please be aware that this log does not follow SSC or RACK principles. As well, although both pups are members of Citadel, the actions contained herein do not take place on Citadel property and are neither condoned nor endorsed by said organization.</p><p>This is a really rough log. It is, however, something both our pups wanted and have been planning for months. They love each other deeply and, despite what happens in the log, this is fully consensual.</p><p>Specific warnings: anal hook, anal play, boot worship, breath play, cbt, clamps & weights, cutting, deep throating, double fisting, extreme beatings, extreme verbal and physical humiliation, fearplay, hitting, knifeplay, permanent piercing, piss play, punch/kicking play, slapping, suspension, urine ingestion</p>
    </blockquote>





	75. The Big Scene, Part II

**Author's Note:**

> General warnings: Please be aware that this log does not follow SSC or RACK principles. As well, although both pups are members of Citadel, the actions contained herein do not take place on Citadel property and are neither condoned nor endorsed by said organization.
> 
> This is a really rough log. It is, however, something both our pups wanted and have been planning for months. They love each other deeply and, despite what happens in the log, this is fully consensual.
> 
> Specific warnings: anal hook, anal play, boot worship, breath play, cbt, clamps & weights, cutting, deep throating, double fisting, extreme beatings, extreme verbal and physical humiliation, fearplay, hitting, knifeplay, permanent piercing, piss play, punch/kicking play, slapping, suspension, urine ingestion

Stephen nods even as he's sucking greedily on the water, heedless of the cum smeared all over his face and upper chest. He's all eyes now, watching his Sir's every movement - needing him close.

Antony grabs a blanket from the stash in the ring and unfurls it, crouching down to wrap it around Stephen's shoulders. "Better?"

"Yes..Sir," Stephen licks water from his lip, his voice is raw. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Antony touches his cheek again, cupping it for a moment, his eyes locked on his boy's, his gaze warm and firm. "Now get some rest if you can. You'll need it. I'll be right over here," he says, pointing to the side of the ring where he has a small camp chair set up.

A frown wrinkles Stephen's brow as he glances over at the chair and back again. "Sir? I...boy...is boy not allowed to be near you?" If he has to rest, he wants to do it at Sir's feet; be able to touch and smell his owner.

Once again, it's not quite how Antony planned things, but he can tell that needs to change here. "I'll move the chair over," he says, doing just that. A magazine and another bottle of water brought with him.

Once Antony is settled, Stephen shuffles and curls up on his side, the blanket wrapped around himself, knees pulled up. There's some slack on the chain attached to the anal hook, and those on the cuffs so he tucks an arm under his head and closes his eyes, his other hand resting on his Sir's boot.

Antony reads his magazine, glancing down at Stephen every few pages, heart soft and cock hard at the sight. Especially the hand on his boot. He drinks down the bottle of water, his bladder slowly starting to make its needs known, and checks his messages, his phone quickly set aside when there's not anything he ranks as important. Certainly not more important than this.

Stephen manages, by some miracle, to doze - albeit very lightly. However some movement from his Sir has him jerking back to full consciousness, and with it a soft groan of discomfort. He shifts, moving slowly under the blanket, small testing stretches before he tilts his head up to look at his Sir.

"Hey, beautiful," Antony murmurs, smiling, his eyes crinkling at their corners when he sees Stephen's awake. "How're you feeling?"

Stephen takes a moment to catalogue his - many - aches and pains. "Sore," he returns Antony's smile, loving the sound of that particular endearment from his lover, his Sir.

"Scale of one to ten?" Antony asks.

Ugh, that involves actual thought. He brings one shackled hand up to rub over his face, wincing as he catches a tender spot on his cheek bone. "I don't know....a 7 maybe, I'm buzzing with endorphins so..." he shrugs, trailing off.

Antony nods, absorbing that, slowly determining where he wants to go next. "You want some water?"

"No thank you Sir," Stephen watches his Sir, he knows that face, knows it means Antony is planning out his next move. Even now that knowledge gives him butterflies.

"Okay. You ready then?" Antony asks, leaning forward, his hand gently touched to his boy's bruised cheek.

Tilting his head into the touch, Stephen nods. "Yes Sir."

"Good." Antony stares at Stephen for a moment longer, holding his gaze, then rises to his feet, the chair and his other stuff moved back out of the way. "I'll take the blanket too." Waiting for Stephen to drop it from his shoulders before roughly folding it and tossing it onto the chair. He walks back in front of Stephen and stands there, staring down at him, his camos still unzipped, cock still hard. "I need to piss."

A slow blink, and just like that Stephen starts to go fuzzy around the edges again, he pushes up into his kneeling position, presenting himself - and then tilts his face up. He already feels dirty, sweaty, covered in dried and flaking cum, this... this will take things to a whole new level of filth.

"Open up," Antony orders, rubbing his cock against Stephen's lips. "You really think I'm gonna make a mess of these mats when I have my pig for this?"

It's not his most favourite thing, to drink Sir's piss, he's gagged at the taste before now, but the flip side, the bonus is the way it makes Stephen feel - humiliated and utterly degraded. And that...that's his cast iron kink. He opens his mouth, wide, and holds his Sir's gaze. _Use your pig..._

Christ. "That's it," Antony murmurs, his voice low, thick with arousal. He shifts forward, cock against tongue, the initial trickle quickly becoming a stream.

Stephen swallows, his Sir's piss bitter on his tongue, soon enough it's spilling out the corners of his mouth and down his throat, the stream faster than he can manage.

Fuck. "Look at you," Antony says on a rough groan. "You can't get enough, can you, pig? You were fucking made for this."

Down his chest and belly to bead in his pubic hair, Stephen's cock is thick and erect as he keeps gulping down as much of what his Sir is giving him.

The stream dwindling, Antony smirks at Stephen's arousal and toes his cock with his boot. "You that turned on by being my piss bucket?"

Stephen can't answer, but if he could he'd tell his Sir 'No, it's the absolute degradation of himself that turns him on that much'. A soft whine as the stream of hot piss trails off, leaving him sat there with the taste of it on his tongue and the stink of it on his skin.

And Antony knows that. He knows the utter humiliation of it all is what gets his boy. "Fucking slut," Antony sneers, pushing harder at Stephen's cock with his boot, the movement shaking his piss from Stephen's skin onto the leather.

"Yes Sir," Stephen agrees readily, because he is. For this man Stephen would do anything, endure anything. He is Antony's possession through and through, his slut, pig, his fuck toy.

"Look what you've done now," Antony says, nodding at his boot. "You'd better clean that up."

Stephen groans, it's his 'thing' to be allowed to kiss and taste his Sir's boots, normally reserved for special occasions. He moves, putting his hands out to brace himself, but the chain comes up short, and when he tries to shuffle forward, the anal hook stops him in a heartbeat. "No!" he whimpers softly, "Please..."

"What? You can't reach?" Antony smirks, shifting so his boot is _right there_ , taunting his boy.

"Sir... not this.. don't... please." Even to his own ears Stephen sounds pathetic, but from the moment he'd seen his Sir at the beginning of all this he'd known he'd be allowed to indulge in this, his fantasy. So to be mocked, to have it put right there in front of him and denied, is a wicked and cruel torment. "Sir... has boy not been good? Has he not pleased?"

"He has," Antony acknowledges. "But I want to see just how badly he wants this." Unable to resist the urge to push.

Stephen wants it with every fibre of his being. He tries again, inching forward, pulling hard on the restraints, the anal hook tugs harshly against the ring of muscle in his ass, making him whimper in pain he stretches his neck but still he comes up short. Tears bead in his eyes and he cast a look up the long line of his Sir's body. "Please Sir..." His begging is miserable, pathetic.

Antony smirks. "You'll do anything to get your mouth on my boots, won't you, pig?"

Humiliated and degraded Stephen presses his forehead to the floor, his fingers curled up into fists, Stephen murmurs a soft, "Yes Sir."

"Then come for me. I don't care how you do it, other than not using your hands on your cock," Antony says, tamping down on the desire to just fuck his boy right through the goddamn floor. "Come for me and I'll let you have my boots."

Stephen's desperate, but he's also fuzzy headed, so he's slow to move, but when he does he shuffles back on his knees, giving himself slack on both the chains, then he bends right over, knees splayed wide and reaches back for the handle on anal hook. Slowly but surely he starts to fuck himself with the hook, rubbing the unforgiving and hard steel sphere against his prostate. He grunts with the effort, huffing out soft noises of pain.

The sight before him is so fucking hot and Antony's glad they decided to tape this, to get every moment, every bit of humiliation and desperation on tape. Christ. He grinds his palm against his once-again aching erection and then goes back to taunting his boy. "Look at you. You pathetic, desperate piece of shit. Fucking your cunt with that ball because you need to get your fucking mouth on my _boots_."

The humiliation is the added layer that Stephen needs, there's an absence of physical sexual pleasure in the way he's having to work himself, it's just too fucking sore for him to be getting off on that alone, but the knowledge he's doing this... degrading himself to this level for his Sir's pleasure, that his Sir sees fit to verbally abuse him - yeah that's more than enough to compensate. His cock dribbles precum over the mat, then a heavier warning spurt. "Close... Sir... pig is close."

"You are such a nasty pig. Such a dirty fucking cunt," Antony murmurs, watching Stephen strain for it. "Come for me, you piece of shit."

There's little pleasure in it, merely a physical release, Stephen whimpers and shudders as he spills a meagre amount of cum out beneath him. He lets go of the hook shaft, and slowly unfurls, lifting his face up to his Sir, his breathing is ragged, the tears track unheeded as he waits to hear if he's pleased.

Antony meets Stephen's gaze, staring at his boy, into him, for a long moment before he moves closer. _Just_ within reach.

As desperate as he is, as clumsy and uncoordinated he is from pain and head space, Stephen doesn't rush in. Instead he inches closer, places one hand either side of one boot, his palms to the floor and then slowly leans in, pausing millimeters away to inhale. A tear drop splashes down to the leather and he makes a soft noise of protest before kissing it away in the most tender of gestures. Here - like this - he is able to worship all that his Sir is to him.

Antony knows what this means to Stephen, knows how much he _needs_ this. What it does for them both. "That's it," he murmurs approvingly. "Just like that."

The next few moments see Stephen nuzzling little kisses over the leather, then a tentative lick, a pause as the taste blossoms over his tongue and he makes a small purr of pleasure at it, then another lick, each gesture full of reverence. "You are everything to me." He whispers - not meaning for his Sir to hear it.

But Antony does, the words taking a moment to sink in, become clear, his heart twisting tight in his chest. "Good boy," he murmurs, feeling the same way, but here, now, isn't when he's going to say it. Not when it makes him just want to scoop Stephen up and kiss him until neither of them can see straight.

He gives each boot the same attention - and when he thinks he's spent enough time attending to them he pulls back and sets his forehead to the floor in supplication. "Boy thanks you Sir."

"You're welcome," Antony says, then crouches down, sliding his hand into Stephen's hair, fingers gentle against his skull. "You deserved it."

"Thank you Sir." Stephen swallows, eyes closed, his head still down. "May boy ask Sir for something?"

"He can ask," Antony says simply.

"The hook Sir... if boy can't have it removed, please may boy have more lube?" The friction to his hole, the delicate skin around it, is such that there is little else he can think about right now. Even above all the other bruises and cuts he's currently wearing.

"If I take it out, I'll be replacing it with my fist," Antony tells him, willing to remove it because he'd been thinking about it anyway. "With more lube, of course." A small smile curving his lips.

"Whatever you see fit Sir," Stephen murmurs, turns his head into the caress, his Sir's fingers still stroking over his scalp. "Boy is yours."

"Yes, he is," Antony says. "Every inch, inside and out." He pets Stephen once more then moves behind him. "Push," he orders, grasping the hook.

Stephen bears down, even though it's painful to do so, he's crying out as the ball tugs against the ring of muscle before it slides free, leaving his ass gaping and red.

"Good boy," Antony praises, his arousal only increasing with Stephen's pain. He grabs a tub of lube and spreads a glop around and just inside Stephen's hole and then slicks his right hand, wrist and forearm. "Get that ass up here," he growls.

Knees spaced to give him a decent centre of balance, Stephen dips his head back to the floor, resting his forehead on the back of one still shackled hand. He offers his ass up as requested, even though, for once, he's full of trepidation rather than anticipation at the act of being fisted by his Sir.

Antony pushes two fingers into Stephen and then three, his boy loosened up by the hook enough to easily take them. "Look at that cunt gape," he says casually, twisting his fingers into Stephen's hole. "I bet you could take both hands for me." He's made the threat before. Knows the reaction it usually gets.

Threat, promise or inevitability, Stephen's not sure, but right now the words make him whine. The metal hook was unforgiving, his Sir's fingers are knowing, his Sir knowing exactly how to work him open for this, his body gives without fight, his hole slackening with each punch of his Sir's fingers.

"You are so fucking hot," Antony murmurs, four fingers worked in now, stretching Stephen open without mercy, unrelenting in their assault.

Each breath is accompanied by a noise; a grunt or groan of near pain. Stephen's whole body aches, he's starting to feel each bruise, each bite, each welt from the belt, the cuts to his hip are a dull throb. And still his body opens for more.

Thumb tucked in against his palm, Antony works his hand deeper and deeper, knuckles grazing his boy's cunt again and again, just needing that last bit of stretch before he's in.

The pressure is immense, and Stephen grits his teeth, bearing down to give his Sir all he can, wanting _needing_ that fist inside him now, needing to be possessed, in such a visceral and raw manner.

Another push, another twist, and Antony's hand pops through that tight ring of muscle, Stephen's hole closing over his wrist. Fuck. His cock throbs and he hisses in a soft breath, the tight heat making his head swim, his arousal right back at its peak.

It's all Stephen can do to keep still, it feels like his skin is suddenly too small for his body and he needs to writhe and move. His hands ball into fists and he pushes up onto his elbows, his head up, panting hard.

"That's it, boy. You open up for me," Antony says, curling his fingers into a fist and pushing deeper.

It's always a deeply overwhelming experience to have his Sir's hand inside him, even more so today, after hours spent being slowly taken apart, taken down until Stephen is _this_ ; a shivering wreck, his skin painted in blood, piss and cum - his own and his Sir's - his body bloody and bruised, a toy for his Sir's amusement.

"Good," Antony praises, pulling his fist back, Stephen's hole stretched wide, before he "punches" back in. And again. Over and over, twisting his fist into Stephen's cunt, his movements both brutal and gentle.

Once more Stephen's unable to stay silent, in fact with each push of his Sir's fist he makes loud growling grunt of a noise, and as his body reacts to the stimuli he gets louder and louder until he's keening out an unbroken sound of pleasurepain. Sweaty and flushed he sways on his hands and knees, pushed right to the edge of what he can take.

Antony slows again, slicking his other hand, running the fingers around the base of the fist already inside Stephen.

The easing up - such as it is, pulls Stephen back from the brink, it allows him to breathe and try to find some centre in the maelstrom of sensation - what he finds he's craving, needing - to ground him - is pain, sharp biting pain, not the sort found here like this, but that he felt earlier, under his Sir's wickedly edged knife.

Pulling the first hand back, Antony starts working the other hand deeper, four fingers to the first knuckle then the second, forcing his boy's body to open, to stretch, to take what he's giving him.

It's the most bizarre sensation - and later Stephen will struggle to articulate it - but he feels himself... disintegrate. Conscious thought becomes impossible, any and all reactions and responses are purely instinctive - raw and honest. His noises resemble nothing human, and Stephen becomes the 'thing' he's craved - an object, a piece of meat.

Antony takes his time, but he's unrelenting, working both hands deeper, into his boy, inch by painstaking fraction of an inch, Stephen's body slowly opening up, blossoming around him, his cock constantly dripping what might be come or piss or both onto the mats beneath him.

Sweat beads and drips from Stephen's skin, which is flushed dark, the colour criss crossed with the welts from the belt. Tugging on the chains he pulls them taut, giving himself something to work against, tears spill down his face, splashing on the floor beneath him.

"That's it. Almost there," Antony says, feeling that give, that last stretch of muscle he needs to push through. "Open for me, boy." A rough groan spilling from him as Stephen does just that, Antony's hands slipping into his body.

Stephen roars out a noise. It's overwhelming; being consumed like this, his entire body is shuddering as his body chemistry goes into overdrive.

"There you go," Antony breathes, so fucking hard it hurts, the ring biting into his cock. He doesn't try to move deeper but he does pull back and then push forward again, _owning_ that space inside his boy. "Mine."

Stephen sways on his knees, his hands back planted flat to the floor. Mouth open he pants hard, his eyes nothing more than slits.

Antony moves into Stephen again and again. He pulls both hands out and goes for one and then the other before working them both back into his boy. Awed by what Stephen's taking for him. "Good boy."

He hears the words, but can't process them, Stephen's coming close to the end of his endurance, he opens his mouth wanting to say 'stop' or 'no' but nothing coherent comes out.

Another long moment of making room for both his fists in Stephen's cunt and Antony eases his hands out, slicking his cock with the lube left on one and pushing inside his boy.

All at once the pressure is gone, he can feel himself gaping wide, and then the familiar sensation of his Sir sliding home snugging his hips tight up against his ass.

After so long wanting this - really, from the moment Stephen walked into the gym - it feels like sheer fucking heaven to be inside his boy, and Antony's once more grateful for the ring. Grasping Stephen's hips in his hands, fingers digging bruises into his skin, reopening the cuts he laid earlier, he slams into him, hard and then harder still.

If he'd expected his Sir to go easy - considering what he's just taken - Stephen would have soon been disabused of that idea. Indeed his Sir fucks him brutally hard, adding another ache, new pain, the ripping open of newly healed cuts, blood, sweat, tears, more semen.

Antony drives into Stephen, fucking him with everything he's got, faster, harder, deeper. Nothing held back. Buries himself in his boy, in his hole, his cunt. Stephen nothing but a hole to fuck, use, abuse. Nothing but a thing for _his_ pleasure.

Stephen has never felt like this, never been in this much physical discomfort - never been this disassociated from himself by subspace. Beneath the loving, brutal hands of his Sir, his owner, his reason for being, Stephen is utterly broken.

The ring lets him go much longer than he would normally, his hands keeping Stephen upright, keeping him in place for every brutal thrust of his cock. He pounds into him until he decides he's had enough, so fucking close he can taste it, and then he comes with a roar, hot thick spurts flooding his boy's cunt.

After what's felt like unending physical assault there's stillness, his Sir's body locked with his, the only movement is the flexing of Antony's dick buried deep inside of him as he orgasms. Stephen whimpers, hiccuping little breaths.

"Good boy," Antony praises, rocking his hips a couple more times, making sure Stephen has every last fucking drop. He pulls out and rocks to his feet, still breathing heavily. "Knees."

Hands flat to the floor, Stephen pushes up. He sways as the room tilts for a moment, then he takes a noisy breath, makes the effort to lift his chin, and set his hands to his thighs, palm up. Still trying to present his posture, even as unsteady and out of it as he is. Almost the moment he's upright, he can feel the trickle of his Sir's cum as it dribbles out of his body and onto the floor beneath him.

"Christ." Antony shakes his head, noticing that very same thing. Pretending complete and utter disgust. Disappointment. "You're nothing but a filthy pig. Can't even hold onto what your sir gave you."

The tears spill down Stephen's face, he actually recoils for a moment from the tone. "S...ss..orry," he murmurs, he clenches hard, trying to stop any more escaping, but his hole is so loose, destroyed, it's a vain endeavour.

"Not fucking good enough," Antony says and hits him hard across the face, and again.

The second blow is hard, hard enough that Stephen's head snaps back and the delicate skin on his lip splits, and before he's managed to right himself, the dark crimson beads spill down his chin. Head ringing, he weeps pitifully. "S... sorry Sir.... Sir... please...."

"I told you I was gonna take you apart," Antony says before punching Stephen in the face, that hit followed up by a kick to the stomach.

After everything he's taken, Stephen wouldn't have expected this... but he's not really in a place to think, merely react, the punch catches him high on the cheek, and has him reeling, a shocked noise of pain falls from his open mouth and before he can catch his breath, he's kicked over onto his - exceptionally tender - ass. Any pretence at maintaining any posture is gone as he brings his hands up in an instinctive gesture of defence.

But Antony goes after him anyway, landing his punches with unerring accuracy, determined to bruise every fucking inch of his boy without doing any lasting damage.

The blows rain down, one after the other, crying in earnest he rolls to his knees and tries to crawl away, but his Sir comes after him, showing him no mercy whatsoever, bruised, bloody, in pain, Stephen finally collapses, his arms curled up over his head, and he simply takes it all.

By the time Antony finishes, by the time he finally straightens again, he feels like he's been through the fucking wars again, and he's sure Stephen feels the same way. Worse. His boy's sobbing, battered and broken beneath him and he nudges him with his boot. "On your back." One more thing to take care of.

Even as he's begging an almost incoherent litany of "No more...please..no..no more...please..." Stephen obeys the order, arms still up, he turns over, wincing as the welts on his back make contact with the floor.

"Spread your legs," Antony orders, nudging Stephen again with his boot. "I'm not going to hit you again."

Any other time Stephen would move without hesitation, would do as he's told, but he's so far gone he neither trusts what Antony is saying, or can bring himself to rationalise it. He does however lower his hands, peering up at his Sir through a rapidly swelling black eye.

"Spread your legs. Don't make me fucking tell you again," Antony says quietly, using that tone, the one every fucking person who works for him dreads hearing.

Flinching, Stephen does as he's told, he opens his legs, wide, his feet planted flat to the floor. More scared of whatever punishment might be visited on him, than what his Sir has planned. He lifts a hand to his face, uses the heel of it to swipe away tears, his nose snotty, his lips smeared in blood.

"You're a good boy and we'll be done soon," Antony tells him, his voice softer this time. He goes back to his supplies and wipes his hands down with a cold moist towel. Sets the piercing kit beside Stephen and cleans his hands again, a thin pair of gloves snapped on before he cleans his boy's cock with a couple of antiseptic wipes.

In all that's happened over the last couple of hours, Stephen had totally forgotten this. They'd talked about it - weeks ago - but not since. He lifts his head, one hand flutters over his belly as if he's going to reach down, but he pulls it back when his Sir looks up at him. Tongue sliding out he probes mindlessly at the cut, tasting the copper of his own blood. Blood that Sir is about to spill once more.

"All of this?" Antony says, using a plastic syringe to shove some lube down Stephen's cock. "Is because you're _mine_ , every fucking inch of you, and this? This is just the crowning touch." Fingers twisting Stephen's cock this way and that while he decides the best place to enter, a black marker used to mark the spot.

"Yours," Stephen slurs out, drunk on pain, disorientated from endorphins, he lays back, trembling, but utterly pliant.

"Mine." Antony nods and feeds the receiving tube into Stephen's cock like he was taught at Citadel, careful to line up the end with the mark he made on the outside.

It's odd, this moment of almost stillness in what has been a maelstrom of pain and pleasure. Stephen takes a deep breath, testing his ribs, gauging any possible damage from all the punches and kicks. He exhales, eyes closing.

Gaze flickering between Stephen and his hands, Antony pushes the needle into the receiving tube, through the thin veil of skin, and then works the ring - a stainless steel 10 gauge captive - into place, slowly pushing the receiving tube out as he goes.

A sharp inhale and a clenching of his fists, but Stephen makes no other show of pain, his body has become so used to it over the last hours that another source barely registers. He slowly opens his eyes and looks down the line of his body, watches his Sir's face, the concentration there as he feels his cock being manipulated.

It takes a couple of tugs to get the ring seated exactly like it needs to be, and closed, but then it's done and Antony grins at himself. "This looks so fucking hot," he murmurs. He cleans the area gently, smears some cream around the base of the ring and then strips the gloves free. "Let's get you into the office. You think you can stand?" Kneewalking up Stephen's body to reach for the cuffs and _finally_ release his boy.

Stephen's brow wrinkles at the question and he hesitates as Antony reaches for the cuffs, his one good eye is wide, pupil blown as he tries to process what's going to happen next.

"Here, I'll help," Antony says, getting Stephen to sit up. He's still crouched himself and gets an arm under Stephen's and around his back, lifting them both to their feet as he stands. Fuck. It's not the first time he's had to do this and it won't be the last but it's never easy and Stephen's in no real shape to help. Staggering some, he gets them into the office and Stephen onto the cot with only one serious readjustment mid-way. "You're my good boy," he says softly, gently touching the back of his hand to Stephen's less fucked up cheek. "And I love you. You make me so fucking proud."

It's sinking in; they're done. He looks down at himself and then up. "Finished?" Stephen's voice is raw, his throat thick from crying, and there's a question there, as if this might just be another break and there's more to come later on.

"Finished," Antony confirms, his heart aching at the sound of Stephen's voice, at the tinge of almost fear in his boy's one open eye. "I'm gonna clean you up and you can sleep if you want. Do you want some water?" The bottle already opened and offered.

His hand's shaking as he takes the bottle, and he brings the other up to steady it enough to bring it to his mouth. Half of it spills down his chin and he makes a soft noise of frustration at his own clumsiness.

"Here." Antony helps him with the bottle, one hand behind his head, the other guiding it to his lips. "Whatever you need, I'll get it," he says, making sure Stephen finishes most of the bottle before he sets it back down. "Just try and rest." Which is easier said than done but he wets a washcloth with fairly hot water in the sink on the wall behind Stephen and then sits back down, starting his cleaning with his boy's face.

Antony is gentle, but it doesn't stop Stephen from flinching when his Sir dabs over a tender spot. "Can...." he stops and swallows, "Please... please, boy wants to go home."

"Not until we get you cleaned up," Antony says, wiping Stephen's throat and neck. He'd prefer to stay here and not risk getting caught on the way into their place but if going home is what Stephen really wants once they're done here, he'll do his best to make it happen.

"P..please Sir," Stephen hiccups, "Home." All he wants is his own space, his own bed, his own home. So he can sleep and be and not think. "B...boy can get dressed, boy can w...walk." He has no idea if he can, but he'll tell Antony whatever it takes to have what he wants.

Fuck. "Okay. Sit up," Antony orders, making quick work in wiping Stephen down, the absolute worst of the blood and the mess cleared from his skin. He grabs Stephen's bag and helps him into his clothes, wincing every time Stephen does.

He'd been smart enough to pack sweats, easy enough to pull on, easy enough except when you've beaten senseless and the endorphins are fast wearing off. Somehow he manages to get to his feet, but he has to lean heavily on his Sir to make any actual progress out of the building, hood pulled up, his head down they shuffle to the car.

Antony would've been happier if they'd stayed at the gym, at least for a while longer, but he understands how Stephen feels so he gets them home as quickly as he can, mindful of his boy's pain with every stop and turn.

Stephen's never been happier to step through their front door, he slumps against the wall as Antony kicks the door shut, now he's here he can stop pretending to be able to cope, he plucks at the front of the sweats. "Somethin's running down my leg," he admits quietly. It could be piss, it could be blood from the piercing, he can't tell, his body is sending him all kinds of mixed up signals.

"Let's check it out," Antony says just as quietly, helping Stephen into the bathroom. "You can hold onto me," he tells him, gently working the sweats down over his thighs.

It's blood, and perversely Stephen is rather relieved. Blood he can understand, if he'd been pissing himself he'd have freaked out, as he steps out of his sweats he leans against the vanity and catches sight of himself. "Oh fuck." He doesn't even recognise himself.

"Yeah, I know," Antony says, but he lays a hand over the back of Stephen's collar and gives him a gentle squeeze. "I carried through on my promise." He presses a kiss to Stephen's shoulder and helps him take a seat on the closed toilet. "I'm gonna run you a bath with epsom salts. They'll help cleanse the wounds and soothe the aches." He turns on the water, making sure it's nice and hot but not scalding. Dumps a handful of salts into the water, giving it a swirl with his hand. "You want me to join you or just sit with you?"

Lifting a shoulder Stephen gives his Sir a half shrug. "Whatever you want Sir." He takes the opportunity to look down at his cock, the silver ring sits snug, the wound bloody, the flesh a little swollen, he reaches down to tilt it up. It's starting to throb, along with a hundred other marks on his skin.

Antony strips down, their clothes tossed in the corner. He'll get them later. "You want something for pain?" he asks, then notices Stephen looking at his cock. "It looks amazing, doesn't it?"

"Doesn't look like my cock," Stephen admits, letting it go and looking up. "My body doesn't feel like my body," he sways slightly on the seat. "I don't feel like me..."

"Hey." Antony takes a seat on the end of the tub, right beside Stephen, watching him closely. "It'll be better after you're cleaned up and you've had some sleep." He reaches out and takes Stephen's hand. "You're still you. You're Stephen. Stephen Amell. You're my boy and my lover and my soon-to-be husband."

"Don't leave me," Stephen tightens his fingers around Antony's hand. "Please? I... I don't want to be... to be boy... I need to be me..." he's aware he's not making a lot of sense, but Stephen's not capable of being more coherent right now.

"I won't," Antony promises. "I know you need to come back to me," he says, holding on. He turns a bit, twisting to turn the water off. "You need to be Stephen."

"Yeah, yeah I do." Relieved to find his Sir understands. "I've never felt like this," he lets Antony's hand go long enough to have his Sir help him into the water, he sinks down into the water slowly, his face contorted in pain as the water finds all the breaks in his skin, the tender flesh around his ass, the piercing wound.

"Shift forward," Antony murmurs, getting in behind him. For all that he never used this tub before Stephen, it's certainly come in handy since they've been together.

When Antony's settled, Stephen rather gingerly leans back into him, his head on his Sir's shoulder. He blows out a breath and closes his eyes, finally able to relax in a way he's not been since he walked into the gym, all those hours ago.


End file.
